Gundam 0081: The Mop-up
by Yggdrasil13
Summary: It is year 0081 of the Universal Century. A full year has passed since the end of the One-Year War. Stephen McAvoy, a GM test pilot, has just returned home after being discharged from the military. Though glad to be home, he struggles with PTSD, which he fight to reclaim the life he once had. However, when all is in danger, he must choose whether to run, or fight to save his home.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"11:00 high! Break formation and engage. Don't let them get near Colony 8!" Sergeant Stephen McAvoy yanked his joystick, swinging his FF-4 Toriares fighter into position. In front of him, a wing of Zeon Dopp fighters sailed sluggishly toward the distant battle around Island Ilfish Space Colony 8. Mackenzie keyed on his machine guns and lined up the aiming reticule on his HUD (Heads-Up Display) on the leading fighter. Slowly he let out a breath and squeezed the trigger. A line of bright yellow tracers streaked through the blackness, making a beeline for the Dopp. The rounds tore through the tail, shredding it and tearing apart the fighter's rear. The engine lit up, exploding in a burst of purple smoke and flame before dying in the vacuum. The other Dopps soon followed as the rest of the FF-4s opened fire.

McAvoy took stock of the fight around him. His sector was mostly clear, but all around were the yellow spherical flashes of beam weaponry and exploding starships. He let out a breath. All of Side 2 seemed to be lit up with the flames of combat. The battle seemed to be going in the Federation's favor. Most of Zeon's equipment was outdated and the Federation had the advantage in numbers and training, but this attack had really caught them flatfooted. One minute it had been business as usual, and the next a swarm of Zeon fighters were firing on Colony 8. L4 was all but filled with them by the time the Feds scrambled their fighters. McAvoy sat back in his seat. This didn't make any sense. What were they trying to accomplish? There was nothing here worth attacking. Even if they managed to drive the Federation out, they would have captured nothing but a handful of civilian colonies with no real military significance. So what was their game? His earpiece crackled as one of his wingmen came over the radio.

"Boss!" he yelled. "Colony 8! Look at it!"

"What?" McAvoy responded, shifting his gaze toward the massive station. The hulking colony looked the same as before, with explosions and flames all around. However, something was off. McAvoy couldn't quite figure it out. Then it hit him. "My God," he breathed. "It's moving!" It was true. The continent-sized space station was slowly shifting away from its normal position. McAvoy's jaw dropped in disbelief. It wasn't possible. The station still had civilians on board. They never moved a colony without evacuating the residents first. Either the fighting was growing so intense as to warrant an emergency maneuver, or, more likely, "It's Zeon."

"What?" asked the wingman.

"It's Zeon. It has to be. There's no protocol for moving a colony during combat. This must be what they're after."

"But why? Where are they taking it?"

McAvoy frowned. "I don't know. But it can't be good. Come in, Command! This is Lynx 1!"

A female voice came over the radio. "Go ahead, Lynx 1."

"Requesting permission to intervene at Colony 8. Zeon is moving it."

"Permission granted, Lynx 1. Stop that colony at all costs."

McAvoy grinned. "All right boys," he said. "You heard them. Come on! We've got lives to save!"

The response was immediate and unanimous. "Yes, sir!" The fighters formed a V formation and sped toward the moving station. As they neared the colony, McAvoy noticed a long line of tiny blue jets erupting from the side. He keyed the magnifier on his display, zooming the image in. The image was blurry, but it was obvious that whatever was producing those jets of flame was not part of the station. They were painted with the traditional Zeon olive drab green. McAvoy radioed his squadron.

"Everyone see those jets on the left side? That's our target. If you have missiles left, use them. Get those things off of there if you have to ram them!" The fighters sped closer and closer to the flames. McAvoy took another look at the image on his screen. Gradually, the image began to focus. The green pixelated blur morphed and shifted, revealing something that made McAvoy catch his breath. A line of over a hundred giant green robots were pressing against the colony wall, the thrusters on their backpacks pushing with tremendous force. McAvoy rubbed his eyes. He hit the image capture button on his switchboard and sent the image back to Command. This was a weapon he'd never seen before. Command would need the intel. If he had his way, there wouldn't be any parts left to analyze later. "Right!" he called. "Everyone, single file behind me. Let's make a run at them." Immediately the fighters responded by forming a straight line. One by one they soared over the line of machines, guns flashing and missiles streaking at the enormous machines. Sparks flew off of the robots' armor before the smoke and flames of the missiles enveloped them completely. The fighters completed their run and looked back to see the damage they had inflicted. McAvoy strained his eyes as the smoke gradually cleared. His heart sank into his stomach. Out of the hundreds of machines, only three were disabled. The guns hadn't left so much as a scratch, and most of the missiles had been harmless. What's worse, everyone in his wing was now out of missiles. "Right!" he said. "Everyone, back to base to rearm! It's going to be a tough slog. These guys are tough."

The fighters turned back toward their ship. As McAvoy came about, his cockpit lit up with a bright purple glow. He looked up from his instruments to see an enormous glowing robotic eye staring back at him. One of the green robots was hovering right in front of him, holding a huge rifle! A yell of surprise tore from his throat as he yanked back on his joystick, sending his fighter into a steep climb. The robot tracked his movement. He jammed his foot into the left pedal, turning hard left and rolling. Something big impacted his right wing, tearing straight through and missing his cockpit by inches. The damaged fighter began to roll crazily, oblivious to McAvoy's desperate commands. Suddenly, his fighter slammed to a stop, smashing his face into his control panel. He looked up, dazed. The purple glow was back, cast by the single eye. He glanced out the sides of the cockpit, looking for an escape, only to find that the FF-4 was trapped in the grip of the machine's manipulator hand. The eye seemed to glow brighter as the machine lifted its other arm, raising a tremendous battle axe. The blade began to glow bright orange, as if superheated. The machine tossed the fighter straight up like a ball. McAvoy's stomach turned from the sudden force, and he vomited into his helmet, clouding his visor. Through his foggy vision, he saw the axe blade descending on him. He closed his eyes tight, bracing for the impact.

 **Bing!**

"Now arriving at Colony 13: Main docking bay. Please remain in your seats with your seat-belts fastened until the shuttle has come to a complete stop at the dock," said a soft female voice. Stephen sat bolt upright, smacking his head on the row of seats in front of him. He grunted and sat back, rubbing his forehead. He opened his eyes. He was on a civilian shuttle headed for Side 2: Colony 13. He let out a long breath. It had all been just a dream. A nightmare. He had been reliving the Battle of Loum, his first real fight; a baptism by fire. Stephen groaned and stretched his muscles, pushing the tense memories away somewhere deep. The shuttle jostled gently as the voice came back over the speaker. "We are now docked at Colony 13. You may now release your seat-belts. Please stand back from the automatic doors."

The doors opened with a hiss of releasing pressurized air. The passengers rose to their feet and moved toward the front of the spacecraft. Stephen followed the small mob out of the doors, feeling his feet drift from under him under the effect of the low gravity. He grabbed the handrail and pushed himself through the door, maneuvering around the less experienced space travelers still struggling to situate themselves. He floated easily out of the spacecraft and drifted toward the terminal exit. People bustled past him on either side, hurrying to their flights. All around were people waiting and staring eagerly at the space behind him, waiting for loved ones to follow. Stephen looked around sadly. He couldn't see her. He hadn't really expected her to show up, but he was nonetheless disappointed. He sighed, drifting past the crowd of tense greeters with his eyes trained on the passing floor tiles. He pulled his debit card out of his pocket, steering himself toward the rental car kiosk.

"Steve! Steve, is that you?"

Stephen spun around. There she was, right behind him. Lucie Carson. Her long, brown hair drifted weightlessly behind her. Stephen felt his heart swell. Even after two years of dating and a third of engagement, the mere sight of her took his breath away, and she had never looked more beautiful to him than at this moment. She saw his face and smiled bigger than he had ever seen. "It _is_ you!" she cried, stretching out her arms. Stephen grinned, watching her struggle against her weightless momentum for a moment. He chuckled. His fiance rarely came to the spaceport and wasn't used to moving in low gravity. He planted one foot on the floor and pushed himself toward her. They collided hard and he heard her gasp at the impact. He had expected her to throw her arms around him. Instead, she clasped the sides of his face firmly between her hands and kissed him deeply. Stephen's felt his ears burn red hot as he returned the kiss. After several moments, Lucie pulled away and gazed into his eyes. "You're home!" She said, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. She hugged him close, her grip tight and desperate. "You have no idea how much I worried. When I heard about A Baoa Qu and didn't hear from you I thought for sure you'd been killed! Don't ever scare me like that again!"

Stephen squeezed her firmly. "I'm sorry," he said. "After the victory, They asked me to assist in collecting all the Zeon weapons. I didn't have a single minute to myself for over a month. Everything had to be collected, tagged, catalogued, and either stored or destroyed. The process is still going on now, in fact. I contacted you as soon as I could."

"I know," said Lucie. "You told me all that over the phone. I'm just glad you're home."

Stephen smiled, putting his hands on Lucie's shoulders and pushing her to arm's length, gazing into her bright green eyes and gently wiping away her tears. "Come on. Let's go. I want to see the neighborhood again."

She laughed with a slight sniffle. "OK," she replied, throwing a comedic salute and winking. "Let's get you home, soldier. It's time to receive your debriefing."

Zeon Captain Jed Davis pushed himself out of the shuttle. The tie around his neck floated freely behind him, flapping around in an irritating manner. He tugged at it, muttering under his breath. He couldn't remember the last time he'd worn civilian clothes, and he definitely hadn't missed them. Business attire had never suited him. The collars rose too high and chafed at his neck, the ties made it harder to breathe and swallow, as well as gave enemies a potential handle to strangle with, the pants were too fragile and fancy, making him constantly fear getting them dirty, and worst of all they restricted his movement, making them extremely awkward in low gravity. He grumbled again. Did the Federation seriously expect him to just go back to civilian life after everything that had happened?

Three men exited behind him. Davis smiled at them. Nimoy, Shatner, and Doohan, three extremely loyal ex-Zeon soldiers. His team. "Well, boys, we made it," he said. "Welcome to Colony 13. Get the barrels offloaded and let's get started moving in. Once you get that done go out and relax. Have a drink, take a nap, get laid, or whatever makes you happy; we're going to be here for a while so get comfortable. I'll find us a place to dig in."

The plainclothes troops grinned. Shatner spoke first. "You got it, boss." He pushed himself toward the shuttle's cargo hold, Nimoy and Doohan following close behind. Doohan winked as he passed his commander.

"But only if you say please," he said sarcastically.

Davis laughed. "Ah, shut up and go unload the cargo," he replied with a smile. Doohan waved and went after Shatner.

Davis turned toward the spaceport exit when something hit him hard in the stomach. He looked down to see a young boy, about five years old, pushing himself away. He looked up at Davis, his eyes wide and frightened. Davis smiled down at him.

"Careful," he said gently. "If you lose control like that you could get hurt." The boy said nothing, simply staring. "Are you here with your parents?" asked Davis. The boy nodded. "Where are they?" The boy said nothing, his eyes beginning to water. "Is this your first time at the spaceport?" Again, the boy nodded. Davis set the boy down on his feet then pointed at the wall. "Do you see those moving handles?" he asked. The boy followed Davis's gesture. A long line of handgrips ran the length of the wall. Slowly, the handles moved down the line, pulled along by an internal conveyor belt. The boy looked up at Davis and nodded. "When you're in low gravity," said Davis, "the best way to get around is to use those. Just grab one and let it pull you to where you need to go. If you grab that one and follow it to the end, you'll find a customer service desk. Tell the clerk your name and let him know that you've lost your parents. He'll give an announcement over the intercom and your parents will find you. Got it?" The boy nodded, a hint of a smile hovering over his face. Davis put his hand on the boy's back and gave him a gentle push toward the handles. The boy grabbed one and began to float down the corridor. "Good luck!" Davis called after him.

The boy looked back and waved with his free hand. "Thanks, mister!"

Davis waved back, then turned and looked around him. People were everywhere, floating in every direction. Children turned somersaults, laughing and squealing at the thrill of weightlessness. Parents chased after them, trying to keep them under control. Business people rushed around, moving quickly with the practiced ease of frequent travelers. Tourists wobbled uneasily, their gravity adapted bodies confused by its absence. Davis's expression darkened. So much life. So much activity. All of it about to disappear. He shook his head. No, he couldn't think that way. Such thinking would make him lose his nerve. He had to be cold now. These were not people. These were the animals who had taken his home and freedom from him by siding with the Earth Federation. All of them would pay. Maybe now, they feds would finally listen. Once they realized Zeon would never stop fighting, surely they would give up and grant them their independence. With determination, he pushed himself toward the exit. He whispered to himself.

"Sieg Zeon!"

"I think it's disgusting. The war has been over for a year. Why didn't they just let you go home?" Mrs. Carson took Stephen's mug from the coffee table and walked into the kitchen. Stephen put his arm around Lucie, hugging her close to his side while letting himself slouch slightly on the sofa.

"You don't just sign up to serve in the military for the duration of a war," he called after Mrs. Carson. "I signed up for four years, and they just gave me an early discharge."

"An early discharge?" she echoed. "What happened?"

Lucie felt Stephen tense up a bit, then relax. "Distinguished service," he said evenly. "They told me I was better suited to a mobile suit than a desk, and they didn't need me anymore."

Mrs. Carson walked back into the living room, carrying a refilled coffee mug. She handed the steaming cup to Stephen and sat in the recliner across from the couple. "Ah," she said. "So they gave you an Honorable Discharge."

Stephen tensed up again. "Yeah, more or less," he answered. "I mean, there weren't any special commendations or anything. They essentially just fired me. But they didn't court martial me either, so I guess it's technically 'honorable.'"

Mrs. Carson sat back in her seat, sighing. "So you were at A Baoa Qu, right? Did you happen to see that pilot everyone's talking about?"

This time Lucie could sense Stephen shake as his muscles contracted, but once again he relaxed. "You mean Amuro Ray? I only caught a glimpse of him. The battle covered a huge area, and I was defending my carrier, not attacking the base. But I did get a decent look at the Gundam. It's quite the piece of hardware."

Mrs. Carson cocked her head to one side. "I thought _you_ piloted a gundam, too."

Stephen chuckled. "Well, sort of. I pilot a GM. It's design is similar, but it's a bit different. A GM is basically a cheaper Gundam designed to be mass produced. It's not as powerful, fast, or durable, but they can make a ton of them for less money."

"Ah," said Mrs. Carson. "So you got the short end of the stick, did you?" She smiled with a naive kindness.

"Actually, I was one of the lucky ones," said Stephen, his tone wavering a bit. His smile remained, but the soul behind it had vanished. "They could have assigned me to a Ball unit. Those crazy things are garbage. Slow, clumsy, weak firepower, and armor that a child could poke a hole through. The boys nicknamed them 'mobile coffins.' Trust me, being in a GM is something they all envied us for."

Mrs. Carson was silent. Lucie gently stroked Stephens arm and planted a kiss on his cheek. The soul seemed to partially return to his face. She turned to her mother. "Let's talk about something else," she suggested.

"Yes... good idea!" said Mrs. Carson. "Stephen, did you see the new cafe they opened on Hedgeworth? They'd been talking about it opening since the war started, but when the coffee supply started to dwindle they put it on hold. There was talk for a while that it would start out by selling synthetic coffee. Can you imagine?"

Stephen nodded, then stood to his feet. "Pardon me," he said, his face going dark. "I... I think I need to use the restroom." He walked out of the room, leaving the two women alone. Mrs. Carson looked at Lucie, puzzled.

"Did I say something wrong?" she asked.

Lucie sighed. "It's all right, Mom. Stephen's probably just tired from his trip. Still, I think it's probably best to avoid talking about the war with him, just in case."

Mrs. Carson shrugged. "You're the nurse, sweetie. I'll take your advice."

Lucie smiled. "I appreciate it." She looked at the empty space beside her. Something was bothering Stephen. She could see it in his eyes. He had seen horrible things that she could never imagine. She pushed her worrying aside. It was fine. He was home, now. He could leave whatever was eating him behind. Yes, she assured herself, everything would be fine now. If she just gave him a little time, he would be back to normal before she knew it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Stephen lay awake on his bed, the darkness of the room doing nothing to cure his insomnia. His body was still, his breathing even, but his thoughts were racing. He looked around the room. The moonlight coming through the window cast a warped shadow from every object. He smiled to himself, remembering his childhood days when he would lie for hours deprived of sleep, imagining every shadow to be a monster. He sighed. Not much had changed. Here he was, a grown man, and still he was haunted by shadowy ghosts. He stared at the ceiling, its blank color staring back at him. He gazed harder, hoping his brain would absorb some of its blankness and leave him in peace. Just like always, though, the empty space simply became a canvas for his imagination.

The barren image before him filled up with mirages of debris floating in space. There was a solar array here, over there was a demolished zaku, and off in the distance he could see... Stephen blinked, but the spectral picture refused to dissipate. Off in the distance he could see the Earth, its deep blues and greens absolutely stunning against the black backdrop of space, but those were not the only colors. A burning strand of red ran straight toward the center, heading for the South American continent. At the center of the streak was a metallic cylinder, enormous in size. A space colony. Colony 8, with over a million people trapped inside, tore into the Earth's atmosphere, the heat of reentry painting the steel outer hull bright orange and yellow. Stephen could almost feel the screams of terror as nature tore the residents' home apart and vaporized everyone inside. He thought of the school there. It would have been in session during the battle. He thought of the children shrieking for help as the intense flames turned their bodies to ash.

The colony kept falling, but something exploded on one side, and its course shifted. It turned against the Earth's rotation, falling toward Australia. Stephen watched it descend, getting smaller and smaller as it both descended and disintegrated. Finally, it disappeared from view for a few moments. A bright light flickered around the Australian coast as the colony impacted the surface. Stephen winced, knowing that something the size of a colony falling from orbit would hit with the force of hundreds of nuclear bombs.

The image shifted, and the debris field vanished, replaced with a memory of a news report. A pretty young lady stood in view, a serious frown on her face as she made her somber report.

"This morning, the most devastating attack in the history of mankind was carried out. Zeon, who have been threatening hostilities for the past several years, have just now taken action against the Earth Federation. New Zeon machines, known as mobile suits, launched an attack on Side 2. The new weapons were too much for local Federation defenses to handle, and Zeon succeeded in seizing one of the colonies. This colony was then pushed into the Earth's atmosphere, where it fell to the surface, impacting directly in the center of Sydney, Australia. The force of the colony drop was far greater than anything Earth has seen since the time of the dinosaurs. What was once home to over a million people is now completely gone, replaced with a deep basin filled with Pacific seawater. Zeon has come forward, saying that they have declared war against the Earth federation. Though they claim they're original target was not Sydney, but a Federation base located somewhere in South America, they have failed to offer any sort of condolences for any of the civilian victims. Though still unconfirmed, most witnesses, both from Earth and space, claimed that Zeon did nothing to evacuate the occupants of the colony prior to dropping it. Also unconfirmed are numerous witness accounts that the colony was redirected mid-fall by some type of launched explosive originating from South America. Though still conjecture, many are taking to the streets protesting both Zeon and the Earth Federation, claiming that the South American troops purposefully redirected the falling colony toward the Australian continent."

Stephen clenched his eyes shut, but the images simply moved from the blank ceiling to the blackness of his eyelids. He turned over violently, throwing his face into his pillow. Still the ghastly pictures stayed. Tears flowed from the corners of his eyes like raging rivers. The screams of the children rang in his ears, refusing to stop. The wailing got louder and louder until Stephen sensed his own screams joining them. He thrashed in his bed, trying to drown out the shrieks with his, but his cries were simply absorbed. He ceased his yelling as the fight left him. He simply let the noises and pictures consume him as he lay still in despair. Then came the last of the images. For half a second everything stopped. Then, suddenly the image of a little girl's mutilated face exploded into his vision and a bizarre noise tore through his ears. The noise was eerie and soft, but also forceful. It throbbed in his head, consuming his entire mind. "Lah!... Lah!..." His skin crawled, feeling intensely hot as flames engulfed every piece of his vision with a mighty explosion. Stephen cried out in terror as he threw himself out of bed and onto the floor, curling up into the fetal position and sobbing.

The lights in the room switched on and the imaginary flames evaporated. Stephen looked up to see Lucie descending on him. She threw her arms around him and held his head close to her chest, gently stroking his hair.

"Shh!" she said. "It's all right. Calm down. I'm here. It's over now. What happened?"

Stephen open his mouth, but all that came out was a dull croak. H shuddered forcefully, suddenly feeling extremely cold. Lucie clasped him tightly, whispering softly to him. A minute later his shivering decreased enough for him to speak. "I-I-I'm fine," he stammered, his breathing slowing to its normal rate.

Lucie relaxed her hold, but still kept him close. She looked into his eyes, noting their frantic movement and the paleness of his face. "What happened, Steve?" she asked.

Stephen swallowed. "Just... just a nightmare," he said, trying to manage a smile. "Don't worry. I'm alright."

Lucie scowled at him. "You're not alright! I've never seen you like this before. Don't lie to me just to make me feel better. I'm a nurse; I know symptoms when I see them. What happened to you?"

Stephen pushed her away, looking down at the floor. Lucie sat back, a hurt expression on her face. "I'm fine," he said. "I just need to clear my head." He rose to his feet and walked toward the door. "I'm going to go get some air," he said over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Lucie felt her face begin to burn as tears welled up in her eyes. She had seen trauma dozens of times, but it never got any easier. She had seen the strongest of men reduced to whimpering children by memories of something horrid; something they refused to talk about. She shook her head in frustration. It was typical of Stephen to bottle things up inside. He never liked other people worrying about him. Even so, it was unlike him to shut her out, especially the way he just did. All through their dating years she couldn't remember a single time he had pulled away from her comforting advances. Whatever had happened to him, whatever he had seen, it had broken a part of him. Lucie felt something sink in her heart. Yes, something was definitely broken, and she doubted she would be able to fix it.

The warm morning light fell on Stephen's face, contrasting with the cold air. He smiled, relishing the feeling as he relaxed on the porch sofa. A sunrise was always beautiful, even if it was only simulated. He remembered seeing the sun rise when he was on the Earth, back during Operation Odessa. The desert sun had been burning during the midday hours, but in the mornings the temperature was pleasant and cool. He had stood atop a sand dune, looking out at the distant city they were about to assault. His role in the battle would be simple. The pilots always had it easier than the ground forces. He would fly above the fighting and keep the fighters off of the army's back. Easy. Zeon may have had the advantage in space and on the ground, but in the air no one could stand against an Earth Federation squadron.

He sighed happily as the colony's artificial sun revived his chilled muscles. The war had been terrible, but Odessa was a major victory for the Federation. He still remembered watching as the Federation's super-weapon, the Gundam, flew hundreds of feet into the air and sliced the warhead off of a nuclear missile with its beam saber. What a sight that had been! The pilot had to be crazy to attempt a maneuver like that. The memory brought a grin to his face as he imagined Zeon General M'Quve's face as he watched his last resort go up in smoke. Stephen remembered how all the men had cheered as they watched the missile explode and the Gundam land in a dramatic pose as if auditioning for a film.

He thought about that mobile suit. "The White Devil," the Zeon had come to call it. The name certainly fit. At over 60 feet tall and with its unique head design, the Gundam certainly had an intimidating presence. The twin spikes at the top of its forehead gave it a fierce appearance. It's head, arms, and legs were white, with bright red around its white face vent and at the bottoms of its feet. Its torso was light blue, with a vibrant yellow at the collar and the chest vents. Two large vernier thrusters jutted out from its backpack, and the twin beam saber handles jutted out from the top of each shoulder. Stephen had watched the suit in combat more than once. Its beam rifle was terrifying, bearing enough firepower to destroy a battleship with a single shot. The vulcan cannons on the sides of its head tore infantry and aircraft to pieces. Its eyes would glow bright yellow when it locked onto a target, paralyzing many enemies with fear. Some of Stephen's friends were footsoldiers and had told him that the mere sight of the Gundam sent the Zeon troops into a panic. Few even tried to stand in its way. The White Devil destroyed anything and anyone that tried to stop him. Even the legendary Zeon ace, The Red Comet, ultimately was defeated by him. In the heat of battle, it was easy to forget that it was just a machine. It moved as if it were a living thing, reacting with incredible speed that defied its enormous size.

Stephen leaned back, resting the back of his head against the cushions. Not all of his memories of the war were negative. There were many things he looked back on with a smile: the other men in his GM squad, the time he had shot the head off of a Zaku II, causing the bewildered pilot to flail its arms comically, or all the times he would return to the flight deck, thankful for his survival. He thought for a moment. Perhaps if he simply thought of all the good memories, the upsetting ones would fade away.

The porch door opened, bringing him back to reality. Lucie stepped out, rubbing her eyes. With a gentle smile she sat beside him. "Good morning," she said sweetly, resting her head on his shoulder. Stephen grinned. He always loved it when she did that. It made him feel strong, as though she depended on him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she looked up at him with concern. "Didn't you get any sleep?"

Stephen shook his head. "You?"

Lucie yawned. "A little," she said. For several moments both of them were silent, simply enjoying each other's presence and watching the simulated sunrise.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Stephen.

Lucie nodded. "It never gets old, does it?"

"Nope."

Several more silent moments slipped by. Eventually, Lucie sighed. "I wish I could have been on Earth with you. I'll bet the sunrises there were much prettier."

Stephen chuckled. "Maybe a little. But not enough to make it worth the trip. At least, not in the situation _I_ was in."

Lucie laid her hand on his chest. "Well, maybe now that the war's over we can go see it sometime."

Stephen gave her a squeeze. "If you want, we can try for it. But first thing's first..." He stood, bringing her up with him. "I need to go out and get a job. I can't buy us a house without any income."

Lucie looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Buy us a house?" she echoed.

"That's right," Stephen replied, winking a hazel eye at her in his adorable way. "We can't very well live with your mother forever, can we? And I definitely don't plan on bringing you back here for our wedding night." His face morphed into an expression of mock concern. "By the way, we're still doing that whole marriage thing, right?"

Lucie poked him in the ribs. "Last I checked," she answered with a light giggle. Stephen smiled his best smile and kissed her. Lucie's heart fluttered in her chest the way it always had, and for a moment she felt herself taken back to her high school days, when she had finally gotten that big dope to kiss her for the first time. Stephen had always been the shy boy off in the corner, and it had taken forever for him to feel confident enough to try, but when he finally did it was definitely worth the wait.

Stephen broke the kiss first. Lucie stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. Why had he stopped? She hadn't nearly had her fill of him yet. He patted her shoulder.

"Now, now," he said, "Don't give me your puppy-dog eyes. I need to get ready. I've got interviews to set up and applications to fill out."

Lucie placed her hands on the back of his neck, pulling their faces close. She locked her gaze with his, letting her light green eyes work their magic. "Come on," she whispered, giving a sly grin. "Can't that wait until tomorrow? You just got back and I've missed you so much."

Stephen chuckled. It was an old trick, he knew, and it was very tempting. He gave her a quick kiss and stepped back. "It could, I suppose. It's just the sooner I start, the sooner I can take my mind off of... things. And besides, you wouldn't want to postpone that house, would you?"

Lucie sighed. He was right, as usual. Why did he have to be so practical all the time? "Fine," she said. "But you owe me big when you get back."

Stephen walked toward the door, smiling at her over his shoulder. "You got it. Don't worry. I'll make up for lost time."

The man looked up at Stephen over the rims of his glasses. Stephen had always despised this type of person; the kind who did nothing but sit at a desk, push pencils, and tell those under him what a rotten job they were doing. He was balding, and the way he combed his hair did nothing to hide it. His round face seemed permanently stuck in a frown. He wore a cheap suit, marking him as a man who wanted to look wealthier than he really was. The man looked down at the resume in his hand, then back up again.

"Stephen McAvoy, retired Sergeant in the Earth Federation army," he said. "Impressive enough, I guess. Regardless, there's not much else on here that qualifies you for a debris clearing job. You do realize extensive knowledge of mobile lifters is required here, right?"

"I do," replied Stephen. "That's why I came here first. If you take a closer look at that sheet of paper, you'll see that I was a mobile suit test and combat pilot. I'm very good at picking up new control systems quickly and at handling a suit in a vacuum. My life often depended on my abilities and they kept me alive long enough to get here."

The man smiled condescendingly. "I see. How fortunate for you. My son, however, was not so lucky."

Stephen felt a pang of guilt for being so repulsed. "I'm terribly sorry, sir."

The man waved his hand dismissively. "Don't bother. I've heard just about enough apologies from you soldier types to last me three lifetimes. Now normally I'd say we don't have room for you, but unfortunately I don't have that luxury. Ever since that damned accident two weeks ago I've had guys quitting left, right, and center. Frankly, Mr. McAvoy, I'm desperate. Had you walked in here with a rep sheet for a resume I would've hired you. That said, we'll discuss your pay later. Right now, I need you to change out of that monkey suit you're wearing and into something useful. Report to the break room downstairs and talk to Hal. He'll get you started." The man pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket and put it in his mouth.

Stephen paused for a confused moment. "Now, sir?"

The man pulled a lighter from one of the desk drawers and lit his cigarette. "Do you want the goddamn job or not?"

"Yes, sir." Stephen walked out the door, leaving all the pity he had felt behind him. He took the stairs down to the basement level of the office building and found himself in a long hallway with an airlock at the end. The first door on his left was labeled "Break Room." He pushed the door open and stepped in. The room was totally bare, save for a set of lockers against the far wall and a single table in the center. A lone man sat at the far end, dutifully munching on a packet of dehydrated meat. He looked up at Stephen and smiled. It was a genuine smile, and his dark eyes seemed to glow with an amiable light. He was young, though clearly older than Stephen, perhaps about forty. There was no sign of gray in his blonde hair, though wrinkles had started to crease his forehead.

"Howdy," he said cheerfully. "Haven't seen you before. The boss just hire you?"

"Yeah," Stephen replied. "Are you Hal?"

"I am indeed," said the man, rising to his feet. "I imagine you're pretty confused right now, but don't worry. The pay is good and the work is simple. We've been really shorthanded lately, so Mr. Jameson has basically started kidnapping applicants and throwing them right in. The boss's got a tight schedule to keep, y'see. As long as there's debris out there, shipping and commerce will be tricky. The mayor's been pressuring us a lot lately to step up our game. Sorry about the rough reception. He's not a bad fella, he's just really stressed out. Anyhow, what's your name?"

"Stephen," said Stephen. "Stephen McAvoy."

"Right, then, Steve," said Hal. "Ever used a mobile lifter?"

"Not a lifter," Stephen answered, "but I was a mobile suit pilot during the war."

Hal's smile seemed to grow. "Ah, then lifters'll be a walk in the park. Much simpler. What type of suit did you pilot?"

"Mostly GMs, but I tested a few prototype models."

"Well then you might find the lifters a bit dull. Before we start, there are a few things you should know. First, they don't have life support, so we all have to wear normal suits when we go out. You can grab one from the lockers. One-size-fits-none, I'm afraid, but just bear with it. Second, the office is right at the gate between the rotating cylinder and the zero-gravity section. The airlock opens to the hangar, which is a weightless area. When the door opens, it'll look like its spinning so be careful you don't get dizzy or worse, barf in your helmet. Once you get to the hangar, pick a lifter (any lifter) and fire it up. Walk it to the external airlock and the boys in the control hub will let you out. Make your way to the red beacons that mark the debris field, and start looking. There's a scanner in the storage compartment of each lifter. Take it out and scan each piece you come across. The scanner will tell you what each piece is made of and whether it can be salvaged. If it can be salvaged, give it a push toward the green beacons (those mark where the scrap is processed). If it can't be salvaged, press the size button on your scanner and scan it again. If it gives a green light, push it at the Earth as hard as you can. If it blinks red, smash it into smaller pieces and repeat scanning, pushing, and smashing until the whole thing is headed toward the planet. Once they're out of the major routes they'll be pulled in by Earth's gravity and burn up in the atmosphere. Simple, right?"

Stephen nodded. "Yeah, simple enough. So what type of stuff gets salvaged?"

Hal rubbed the back of his head. "Well, let's see... any military hardware we find gets confiscated by the Feds, any armor pieces or fried circuitry gets recycled or sold to scrap shops, and..." He paused. "Any bodies we find are identified and returned to their families. But don't worry about that. Most of those have been picked up by now. We haven't found one for four months now."

"That reminds me," said Stephen. "The boss said something about an accident. What exactly happened?"

Before Hal could answer the door to the break room flew open. "Yeah, lunch time! Finally!" said a voice. Stephen froze. He had heard that voice before.

"Arthurs?" he asked spinning around. It was indeed Arthurs. The fire in his deep blue eyes and his bright red hair gave him away. His freckled face adopted a look of shock.

"Boss?" he gasped. "Sergeant McAvoy? What are you doing here? I thought you died back at A Baoa Qu!"

Stephen laughed. "Yeah, so did I. Fortunately, I know when to eject." Ho took a step toward Arthurs and smacked his shoulder. "Unlike _some_ people I know."

Arthurs wrapped Stephen in a bear hug. "Dammit, boss! You have no idea how happy I am to see you!" He pulled back and playfully punched Stephen's chest. "Don't ever scare us like that again! We never heard what happened to you and the whole squadron assumed you were killed."

"Eh, I got transferred to inventory management, so close enough."

Arthurs was shocked. "They gave _you_ a desk job? What the hell were they _thinking_? You're Stephen McAvoy! Who did they get to test new designs with you stuck in an office?"

Stephen shrugged. "I heard something about some girl from one of the other colonies. Mackenzie or something like that. Apparently she's even better than I was. Fought off a special forces unit all on her own."

Arthurs scoffed. "Right, and you didn't? How many "special" Zeon pilots did you take out? Ten? Twenty? Plus you fought a newtype and _survived_! How many pilots can say that?"

Stephen flinched. "I survived, but just barely. I was still shot down."

Arthurs waved his hand. "Details, details. My point is you were the best."

Hal coughed politely. "Hey, guys. Mind if we get started? That junk isn't gonna shift itself."

"Sorry," said Stephen. "Lead the way. I'm eager to get going."

Captain Davis stepped into the warehouse. It was sizable, just about right. The office out front came with a nice countertop and waiting area and with a back room behind the counter. It was perfect for a scrap company. The price had been decently low, too. Davis looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. It was an official document, a contract with the local government. The language was vague and complicated, but he knew the gist of it. The government would pay him money, and he would buy and process scraps into usable material. Simple. Besides that, he had a near perfect crew for the job.

He glanced toward the back of the warehouse. The barrels they had brought with them sat in a neatly organized row against the far wall. Beside them a line of radiation suits hung on steel hooks. Good, thought Davis. All the equipment they would need for painting. All of that time with the weapons research division was about to pay off. He smiled. Everything was going perfectly. The man at the business bureau had done nothing more than glance at his forged ID before granting him clearance. They must have been desperate to be rid of all that debris outside. He didn't blame them. Three years later and still Side 2 was littered with the remains of Operation British. Good thing, too. Without all that trash outside, it would be impossible for his plan to work.

He sighed. He didn't have enough money to rent a place to stay. He had reigned himself to living in the office. He walked out the warehouse door and entered the office through the back door, heading into the private meeting room. He switched on the light and shut the door behind him. On the floor was his suitcase, containing every possession he still owned. He opened it and pulled out his old bedroll. It had been a while since Davis had used one, but it would definitely beat sleeping on the bare concrete floor. He unrolled the pack and laid out the mat and pillow. As he stood, he felt his back groan in protest. This wasn't going to be any fun at all. Sleeping on hard surfaces had always been rough on his back, but he wasn't getting any younger.

A knock on the front door made startled him. Instinctively he drew his pistol. Who could that be? It was getting late and few people were still out and about. He slowly opened the back room's door and walked into the waiting area, making sure to keep his pistol hidden under the counter. He relaxed when he saw Shatner's smiling face through the glass. "Come on in," he called, returning his gun to his belt. "It's unlocked."

Shatner opened the door and stepped in, taking a quick look around. "Nice place you got here," he said. "Almost makes you want to retire from the army, doesn't it?"

"Sure does," Davis replied. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you," answered Shatner. "You're probably planning on living in here, aren't you?"

Davis shrugged. "Nowhere else to go, really. What about you?"

Shatner grinned. "I had some money stored away. Bought myself a little apartment in town. Not a big place, but it's got a couch. Why don't you come stay with me, boss?"

Davis chuckled. "How long have you been saving? Those places aren't cheap."

Shatner's grin shrank a bit. "A while," he replied. "I always expected to survive the war, so I wanted to make sure I could afford my own place when I got discharged. Never expected us to be on the losing side, but you know what? It's weird. Somehow, I feel like nothing's changed. I mean, I know this is Fed territory, but here I am, living the way I always thought I would. It's almost like... I don't know... life just went on, you know?"

"Are you saying you want out?" asked Davis.

"Hell, no," said Shatner. "I'm always with you, boss. You know that. I'm just saying... well... I don't know what I'm saying, I guess. I'm just happy. It feels almost like home."

Davis sighed. "I won't deny that. It does all seem familiar. But don't forget that it's not home. Home is Zeon, where our rights are important to our leaders and our voices are heard. You won't have a voice here. The Feds don't care about the people in space. Remember that."

"I know," said Shatner. "Don't worry, boss. I haven't gone soft on you. If I wasn't completely dedicated, I wouldn't be here. Now how about we head back to my place? I've got the fixings for chowder, and it's not gonna eat itself."

Davis grinned. "Sure. Just let me grab my things. And hey, you sure you don't mind having me there? Might cramp your style if you want to bring someone... you know... curvy home with you."

Shatner laughed. "Please! You know me. I've got about as much game as a crippled soccer player. Besides, I'm the sentimental type. I don't want to get attached to anyone, given what we're going to do. You won't be in the way at all."

Davis nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Right, well thanks, Shatner. Your couch sound a million times better than this floor."

"Couch?" said Shatner in mock horror. "An enlisted man forcing a superior officer to sleep on the couch? Absurd, Sir! You'll have the bed."

Davis laughed. "It's _your_ house. Besides, we're not soldiers anymore."

"Right," Shatner replied with a tone of finality. "Then I'll give you the bed as an old friend. Now no more arguing. I'm not about to let you go all polite gentleman on me. You need a decent place to rest your back, old man."

Davis punched his shoulder with a chuckle. "Hey, now! That's no way to speak to your employer. Now come on. Let's get a move on. They've got rain scheduled for tonight and I don't want to get caught in it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Stephen held his scanner out of the steel cage of his cockpit, pointing it at a small chunk of metal and pressing a worn-out button on the left. The device blinked its green light, and Stephen grabbed it with the manipulator, tossing it over his lifter's right shoulder toward the salvage area. He then stared across the debris field, looking for a new piece of scrap. His gaze rested on a dark silhouette against the bright blue of the distant Earth. The scrap looked fairly large. Stephen activated the lifter's verniers, propelling himself toward the mass.

As he neared the object, parts became recognizable as his searchlights illuminated them. Large sheets of olive drab metal, shredded bits of circuit board, strands of wires and hoses, and finally the mangled body of a mobile suit. It was definitely a dead Zaku. Its rounded head sat intact atop the scarred shoulders. The single camera that gave the impression of an eye had long since gone dark. Stephen felt himself breathing a little heavier. He looked around the suit, checking for weapons. The rifle was still clutched in its hand, but it was just as mangled as the rest of it. On its side skirt hung the remains of its battleaxe, the heat-hawk. Stephen shuddered as he gazed on the weapon. He remembered the way its edge would glow as it superheated itself, how it would slice through steel like a razor through jello. He pointed the scanner at it, noticing that his hands were shaking. He sat back in his seat, his left hand clutching his right as he tried to regain control of himself. His radio crackled to life in his ear.

"Hey, Steve. You ok, man? The sensor says you're almost out of oxygen already. Got a leak or something? Check your suit when you get back, but start heading here now."

Stephen exhaled slowly before replying. "Sure, Hal. Hey, I found a dead mobile suit out here. While I'm refitting you might want to have some guys start picking it apart. I'm placing a tracker on it..." he pulled a cone-shaped device out of a compartment in the cockpit and checked the number scratched into the metal. "Number 37. The thing's still got weapons on it. Don't know if the pilot's in it or not."

"Sure thing," said Hal. "Just hurry back before you suffocate, alright?"

"You got it." Stephen reached out of his cockpit and touched the base of the cone to the heat-hawk. The supermagnet inside attached the device firmly, and Stephen backed his lifter away from the wreck. He turned back in the hangar's direction and activated the verniers. He checked his oxygen level. It was pretty low. He must have been breathing even heavier than he thought. He shook his head. Why couldn't he just get over it? The fighting was all over, and it had been over a year since he had fought here. The memories shouldn't have been bothering him anymore. He thought about Arthurs. He had been through much worse than Stephen ever had. How could he stay so... normal? The thought made him grin in spite of himself. Arthurs? Normal? Those two words had never been associated like that before. That must be the reason. Arthurs had always been the bright spot. Nothing had ever phased him. Stephen's grin disappeared. Or perhaps Arthurs was fine because everyone was fine. Maybe he was the only one who couldn't move on. Perhaps he just needed to man up like everybody else. He sighed, shaking his head violently. Thinking like this was getting him nowhere. He wouldn't ever get any better pounding himself into the ground. Best to just ignore it all and keep working.

"Good work out there, Steve. Another one for the books." Hal slapped Stephen's shoulder.

"You know," Stephen responded, "I thought this was going to be a lot harder than it is. But the lifters are really easy to move."

"Yep. Smaller things tend to move easier in zero G. And there's no target system or weapons to monkey with so the interface can be streamlined. And you're doing pretty well for a guy with only a week's experience. Just watch your air and try to breathe lighter. The boss gets real miffed if we use too many tanks. Someone has to pay for all that air, so just make sure he doesn't take it out of your paycheck."

Stephen nodded. "I'll be more careful." He started to walk toward the break room door, but Hal grabbed his shoulder.

"Hey, listen. Before you head home, wanna go grab a bite to eat? I'm starving."

Stephen smiled. "Sure. What's good around here?"

Hal thought for a moment. "You know what I could really go for right now?" he said. "Burgers. There's a helluva burger joint on Cherrydale. Best damned burgers you ever tasted. Cheap, too."

"You know I've been trying not to let my military body go to waste," Stephen replied. "How much will I regret it later?"

Hal smiled real big. "Oh, you'll have _so_ many regrets. Gas, heartburn, fat, you name it."

Stephen laughed. "Sounds perfect. Lead the way, man."

"Right." Hal walked out the door, flinging it wide open. "You're buying!" he called over his shoulder before trotting down the hall.

Stephen ran after him. "Hey, now wait just a minute!"

Lucie ran to pick up the ringing telephone, hastily wrapping herself with a towel. She picked up the receiver, fumbling it with her soapy hands. "Hello? Carson residence." Mrs. Carson came flying in from the kitchen.

"Oh, Lucie!" she said. "I could've gotten that! Look! You're dripping all over the floor!"

Lucie made a shushing gesture in her mother's direction, not bothering to look at her. She focused entirely on the phone call. "Hey, Steve. How was work today?... Yeah?... Ok... Uh..." She glanced at Mrs. Carson. "We were, but we haven't started yet... Hal did?... Baby, you're an adult. You don't need my permission... It's no problem at all. Go have fun with the boys. Lord knows it might do you some good... Sure... Ok, have fun... I love you too, babe." She hung up the phone and turned to her mother.

"Let me guess," she said. "He's not coming back for dinner. After all those ingredients I took out, too."

Lucie gave her a look of sarcastic shock. "Oh, horrors! Now we have to put everything back even though we would have done that anyway! Please, spare me!"

Mrs. Carson laughed. "Ok, now, Miss Wisebritches. Off with you. Get that water back in the shower where it belongs while I clean up this mess you've made. Honestly. Never have kids; they aren't worth the aggravation."

Lucie stuck out her tongue as she walked back to the bathroom. "Just try and stop me." She unwrapped the towel from around her body and swiftly dressed herself, wrapping the towel around her hair and vigorously rubbing it around her head. Mrs. Carson came to the door and peeked in.

"So that means it's just the two of us tonight," she said. "What do you want to do? Go out? Rent a movie?"

Lucie stopped drying her hair and thought for a minute. "The girls and I were out the other day and we found a nice place over on Victor Street. It's a cafe and library. You get out a book and read it with your cup of coffee. I've been wanting to try it out."

"Is the coffee any good, or are they still burning through their surplus rations?"

"Don't know," Lucie replied, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. "Susan went there a few days ago and she liked it. Hey, do you think Steve would mind if I wore that perfume Paul bought for me?"

Mrs. Carson rolled her eyes. "You mean that creepy mailman? Honestly I don't know why you even accepted it in the first place."

"I know, and I normally wouldn't have, but it just smelled so nice and it's expensive stuff. I didn't keep the letter that came with it, though. I can tell you that much!"

Mrs. Carson shrugged. "You know Steve better than me, honey. Go for it if you want. And it's not like he'll be smelling it anyway since he won't be with us when we go out."

Lucie laughed. "Who said anything about when I go out? This is for when I get back. He's not going to be gone _all_ night long." She winked and her mother rolled her eyes.

"You two behave yourselves. You may be engaged, but you're still under my roof. I'm not as young as I once was and I need my sleep, which I won't get with you squealing all night."

Lucie put her hands on her hips. "Mom, I am _not_ a squealer!"

Mrs. Carson burst out laughing. "Oh, yes you are! You just don't notice." Lucie sputtered, unable to think of an answer. Mrs. Carson walked away, smiling to herself. "It's not like it's surprising. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, after all! So what's he up to, anyway?"

Lucie sighed, following her mother into the kitchen. "A few of the boys invited him out to dinner. Weekend and all that. Normally I'd try to convince him to come home, but he sounded like he really wanted to go. I'll admit I'm still a little worried, but I don't want to box him in."

Mrs. Carson raised an eyebrow. "What's to worry about? He's a grown man, you know."

"I know, but still... I've seen his case before. People who come home from the war are often... unstable. It's different for every person, but some can lash out without warning, getting violent out of nowhere. Back when we were flooded with wounded the day the colony fell, it was everywhere. Some of them wouldn't eat, some refused to speak, and others..." she shuddered. "Others attacked us, thinking we were enemies. Steve's case is... well at least it seems to be less severe. But after what happened last night, I..." Lucie suddenly felt her throat tighten, remembering the terror in Stephen's eyes as he had looked at her. It was a primal fear, like a rabbit caught in a trap, the type of fear that triggers the instinct to run... or the instinct to kill. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she swiftly wiped them away. "I'm just worried about him," she managed to choke out. Her mother was beside her in an instant, throwing her arm around her daughter. Lucie faked a smile and shrugged her off. "I'm all right, Mom. I'm an adult too." She half ran to the porch door, desperate for privacy.

Stephen took a long swig from his glass. He had forgotten just how good a soda could taste. Root beer had always been his favorite, and this place produced their own. Sure, it was pricey, but the quality was well worth the cost. He smiled to himself as he drained the last drop and looked over at Hal. He was seated a few seats away at the bar, flirting with the pretty blonde bartender behind the counter. It seemed to be going well for him. She would listen to him talk and laugh, giving him a sweet smile, and even slapping his arm on occasion. Stephen looked around the room. A band sat in the fancily illuminated corner, merrily playing blues. It was a sad song, with a subtle beat and a wailing trumpet. A middle aged woman stood in front of them, singing the melancholy words with all of her soul.

"Oh, how I've missed you!

But now you've come home!

After all this time, I have you back,

But I'm still alone.

Where did you go, boy?

And what did you do?

Why are you different?

Why aren't you you?"

Stephen sat back in his seat, looking across the table at Arthurs, who was nursing a tall mug of some orange-brown frothy drink. Stephen nodded at it.

"I thought you gave up drinking."

Arthurs grinned. "I thought about it, but I'm no quitter. Besides, the way I see it, if I can survive a war that wiped out two-thirds of humanity, then a little liver problem won't do me in. I'm a survivor." As if to demonstrate his point, he tipped up his cup and took a large gulp.

Stephen shrugged. "Well, it's your life, I guess. But when you pass out and someone throws you into the fountain outside, don't come crying to me. But wait, I thought you gave it up for Hellen. What happened with her?"

Arthurs stopped drinking and scowled at him. "Why do you think I started back in again? While I was gone she went and hooked up with some jackass from the base. So much for forever, right?" He took another lengthy drag from his mug. "What about you?" he asked. "How are things with you and Lucie?"

Stephen smiled sympathetically. "I'm really sorry, man. It probably doesn't help that things are just about perfect between us. It's a little hard to relate. But hey, if she had the nerve to do that to you, then she wasn't worth your time. Nothing's worse than a cheater."

Arthurs looked blankly into the distance for a minute. At length he said, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Stephen patted his arm. "Hey, cheer up. Look around you. You're in a friendly place surrounded by attractive women. You're a bachelor. Why not go have some fun? Chicks dig pilots, bro."

Arthurs shrugged. "I don't know. My heart's just not in it, you know? Besides, I'm not totally sane after... everything we saw. Who would want a damaged guy like me?"

Stephen felt the words pierce his soul like daggers. He shook off as much of the pain as he could, faking a laugh. "Come on, now. Since when have you ever been sane? You're not broken. You're just you. You'll never get anywhere by just moping around. Look at Hal. He's got the right idea."

Arthurs looked over at the bar. Hal was writing something down on a napkin as the bartender dictated to him. Arthurs couldn't help but grin as he watched. "That slick dog. I've never seen a guy with so much game, especially at his age. Barely fifteen minutes and he's already got her number."

Stephen lightly punched his shoulder. "You've got game too, you know. Lucie used to have a crush on you, remember? Back before she met me?"

Arthurs smiled distantly. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember." He grinned weakly at Stephen. "Shoulda moved when I had the chance."

"Hey, now," Stephen chuckled. "But I'm awful glad you didn't."

"Me too. You guys always looked good together. I know I've talked crap about it, but I honestly wish you two the best."

Stephen raised a facetious eyebrow. "What's up with you? Jimmy Arthurs talking like a mature adult? The world must be ending!"

Arthurs rolled his eyes. "Oh, har-dee-har-har," he said sarcastically. "Because you're _so_ much more mature yourself."

Stephen winked. "Well I should hope so. Someone has to look after you. Hey, you see that girl over there with the dark hair?"

Arthurs followed Stephen's gaze. Near the band sat a young woman, intently listening to the performance. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and her eyes were closed, a smile hovering around her bright red lips. Her face was pretty and seemed to give an air of welcome. Her hair was long and fell straight to her shoulders with curls at the ends. Arthurs looked back at Stephen with wide eyes. "What? You want me to talk to her? Don't be retarded! She's easily the prettiest chick here. I wouldn't have a shot."

Stephen frowned at him sternly. "Now where's that brash confidence I always hated about you when I need it? Go on. Don't be a baby. Just walk up, sit with her, and talk about the music. She's clearly a music lover, just like you. Bore her to death with your Beethoven nonsense. I'll bet she's into that."

Arthurs opened his mouth, then closed it again. He stammered for a couple minutes before Stephen kicked him under the table. Finally he shrugged. "Ah, what the hell," he said. "Why not? I've got nothing to lose." He stood and walked over to the lady's table, silently taking a seat in front of her. His mouth went dry as he looked at her. She really was gorgeous. What was he supposed to say to her? Her eyes were still closed. She hadn't noticed him sitting down. He took the opportunity to get his thoughts together. The music played through his subconscious, triggering a memory. He knew this song. Obscure, but beloved by those who knew it. It was perfect. He grinned to himself. "Nothing like a little Morty Jenson to chase the sorrows away, huh?"

The girl's eyes flew open in surprise. She looked Arthurs up and down with a hint of a grin on her face. He had expected her to ask why the hell he was at her table. Her answer surprised him. "You know Morty Jenson?"

Arthurs' grin got wider. "Yep! I can't say his stuff is my favorite, but nothing picks me up out of a funk quite like his tunes." He gazed at the band for a couple minutes before looking back at her. "Sorry. Didn't mean to spook you or anything. You just looked like you were enjoying yourself. Thought you might be a fan."

The girl smiled. "I am. A huge fan, actually. That's funny, most people haven't ever heard of him. It's rare to find someone who actually knows him by name. Pretty obscure, you know?"

Arthurs pointed at her. "Exactly! I hate it whenever music comes up and all anyone wants to talk about is the latest All Directions song, or Jared Beaner's new hit. That pop music is ridiculously overrated." He paused, then held out his hand. "Sorry again. I should probably introduce myself now that I've invaded your table. I'm Jim. Jim Arthurs. And you are?"

The girl looked him up and down again, this time with just a faint tint of suspicion. After a moment she smiled, took his hand, and shook it. "Kate. Kate Princeton."

Stephen watched happily as the two began to chat. He looked down at his empty glass and the bill sitting unsigned on the table. He grinned mischievously as an idea came to him. He looked over at Hal. He was still absorbed in his conversation. Stephen picked up the check and walked up to him. He made eye contact with the bartender and winked, holding a finger up to his lips. She nodded at him with a grin and started staring intently at Hal, keeping his attention fixed on her. Stephen subtly slipped the check beside Hal's elbow and tiptoed away, mouthing 'thank you' to the bartender. She waved as he turned around and walked briskly out the door. Hal turned to see who she was waving at just in time to see him disappear into the parking lot.

"So, ready to pay up and call it a night?" asked the bartender. "You look like you could use some rest. Especially if you decide to call me tonight." She winked at him, giving him the cutest smile she could muster. Hal laughed.

"Nah, my buddy over there said he'd pay."

She giggled at him, pointing at the check. "Oh, really? Then what's that?"

Hal frowned, looking down at the counter. His gaze shot up, sweeping around the restaurant. Stephen was nowhere to be seen, and Arthurs was busy at another table with some dark haired cutie. He sputtered. "Hey, now wait just a minute!"


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey, guys. Sorry for the delay. Christmas break, meeting my girlfriend's family for the first time, and spraining my elbow kinda put a damper on my writing schedule. It may be a while until my next chapter, but don't worry. I_ will _get it done! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!_

 **Chapter 4**

"Let's see. Manifest says you're offering various scrap metal, computer parts, and a mobile suit drive system. That right?"

Stephen nodded. "That's right."

The older gentleman behind the counter looked up from the clipboard in front of him. His face was hard, but friendly. His hair was mostly gray and his eyes light blue. He struck Stephen as the fatherly type. Firm, but feeling. He spoke, his voice softer than his appearance. "What type of mobile suit drive system are we dealing with, here?"

"It's from an old Zaku I," Stephen replied. "If you've ever worked with a Zaku II, then you know that there's not much difference."

The man nodded slowly. "Is it intact?"

"Mostly. A few parts are missing, the lines are shot, and the whole thing is dented, but with some effort it could probably tick again. Why?"

"Well," the man said, scratching the back of his head, "the Federation is offering a bonus for intact mobile suit parts. Something about incorporating Zeon tech into the new suits. If I can restore it, then I can flip it for a profit."

Stephen smiled. "Well then I'm sure you can get it working. Does that mean you'll take it?"

The man smiled back. "The price looks right to me. Bring it in."

"Excellent!" said Stephen, shaking the man's hand. "I'll tell the driver to haul in the trailer."

"Pleasure doing business with you," the man responded. "What's your name, anyhow?"

"Stephen. Stephen McAvoy. I work for Bullscrap Co.. And what's your name, sir?"

The man chuckled. "Oh, please. I'm not a 'sir.' My name's Davis. Jed Davis. You know, you seem like a nice fella. Wanna throw an old man a bone? What do you say you bring me any mobile suit parts you find first, and I'll pay you an extra 10%?"

Stephen rubbed his chin. "That's not a bad offer," he said. "The thing is, I don't make those decisions. I'll pass your offer on to my boss and see what he says, though. How's that sound?"

Davis shrugged. "Can't ask for better than that, I guess. Wheel your truck into the barn. My boys'll help you get it unloaded."

Davis waved as the truck disappeared down the street before turning back into the main office. Shatner was at the counter, leaning on it with his left hand while sipping a bottle of soda with his right. "Quite a score there, boss. A whole drive system. Not a bad first purchase."

Davis nodded in agreement. "How's it look?"

Shatner took a sip from his bottle. "It's pretty banged up, but with a few retrofitted parts, know-how, and a bit of love, we can get it running again. If we can just get some armor and an internal frame, we'll have the beginnings of a mobile suit."

"Good," said Davis. "And the paint?"

"All set to go. Needless to say, that's the riskiest part. We've rigged a section out back to contain the barrels and any armor parts we get hold of. I suggest we get those ASAP, so we can get started on that part of the process. But I hope you've got a plan for the armaments."

"I do, but it's hardly efficient. We'll either have to get lucky with the scrap they bring in, or we build them from scratch."

"From scratch?" Shatner echoed. "How are we supposed to do that?"

"We don't need anything complex, like a rifle. But we'll need a heat-hawk at the very least. We can mount some small arms and other antipersonnel weapons to it. We won't be fighting anything big. After the incident at Side 6, the Feddies haven't been stationing mobile suits in the colonies. The most important thing will be the armor. That's why the paint is our top priority. Tell the boys to be careful with it. Those barrels are the only ones in existence. We don't get a second shot at this."

Shatner grinned. "God bless the prototypes of the Zeon R&D teams. Figures, doesn't it? They get a working formula and they only make one batch."

Stephen swiped his employee ID through the slot on the timeclock. The device hummed for a split second, then beeped, displaying the message, "Punch-out complete: Stephen McAvoy." He placed the card back into his wallet, pausing as he spotted another card inside. It was a photo ID, similar to his work ID. But something was different about this one. The top of the card read United Earth Federation Space Force. It was his old military ID. In all the hustle and bustle of cleaning up A Baoa Qu, the Federation had forgotten to confiscate it. Stephen frowned. Perhaps he should take it to the outpost and turn it in. No, it was just an access card, and they'd have taken his name off of the approved personnel lists by now. It wouldn't grant him access anywhere they wouldn't want him to go. No need to make a trip halfway across the colony. He closed his wallet, placed it in his back pocket, and made his way to the exit.

Outside he moved toward the car rental station, reaching for his debit card, when something ran into him from behind. A small pair of arms wrapped around his abdomen.

"Steve! You're back! Lucie said you were but I never got to see you!"

Stephen turned around to see who was speaking, but the kid held on tight and he only succeeded in spinning him around. He reached down to his waist and forcefully released himself. He swung the kid where he could see him. A small face stared up at him, grinning widely. It was a familiar face. Stephen grinned back. "Mikey! Hey, buddy! I was wondering when you'd find me." He looked around. "Are you here all by yourself? Where's your mom?"

Mikey shook his head. "Mom went in some boring clothes store and told me to wait outside, but I saw you and ran over."

Stephen nodded. "OK. Tell you what, walk me me there so I can say hi to her too. I haven't seen her either." Mikey nodded back. Stephen placed his hand on the boy's head, his wide palm nearly smothering his bright blonde hair. "Right," he said. "Lead on."

Mikey squirmed and brushed Stephen's hand away. "Hey, you can't do that anymore! I'm nine now! I'm too old for that!"

"Ah, I see," said Stephen, repressing a chuckle. "My apologies, Mr. Baxter. Please, show me where your mother went."

Catherine Baxter emerged from the fitting room sporting a small black dress and gazed at her reflection in the full-body mirrors. It was a nice dress, and it suited her. Almost. The smooth surface of the tightly pulled fabric contrasted with the wrinkles forming under her eyes and around the corners of her mouth. She sighed sadly. It was a dress for a younger woman. Or, at least, a younger looking woman. She looked at the price tag attached under the arm and cringed. It was a dress for a richer woman, as well. She sighed again, taking one last look at her reflection. This could very well be the last time she would ever wear something like this, so she resolved to memorize the image. As she stared at the mirror, she could see outside the store front. People bustled on the street. Rush hour. Everyone was in a hurry to get home from work. She could see Michael, her son, leading a man to the door. She frowned and looked at him hard. Was that...?

She spun around as the shop door opened and the bell above the door chimed softly and the young man stepped in. It _was_ him! She ran toward him. "Steve!" she called, a smile covering every inch of her face. The young man beamed at her, his handsome face looking as warm and inviting as it always had. He opened his arms wide and Catherine threw herself into his embrace. His hold was firm, but also soft. Tears started to flow down her cheeks as she felt the warmth she had missed for so long. She looked at Mikey over Stephen's shoulder. "Mike, wait outside, please. Steve and I have some catching up to do. You can have him when I'm done, all right?"

Mikey looked disappointed but did as he was told, stepping outside and leaning his back against the windows with his arms crossed. Stephen held Catherine at arm's length and looked deep into her dark brown eyes. She shivered. It always felt like he could see all the way through her, and this time was no different. He looked her up and down, his smile growing. "Nice dress," he said.

Catherine blushed. "Is that all you have to say? I haven't seen you for two years, Steve. I thought you were dead, you know." The tears began to flow in earnest and she turned her face away from him. She felt his hand gently brush her tears away and bring her gaze back to him. His soft fingers ran through her blonde hair, sending quivers down her spine. His expression was earnest and concerned.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have come to see you. It's just..."

"Lucie, I know," she finished for him. "She's too possessive. I doubt she'd like you coming to visit me. I don't blame her. I wouldn't either."

Stephen was silent for several awkward moments, unsure of what to say. At length, he gestured toward Mikey. "How's he been doing?"

Catherine took a long breath. "He's doing well. Top of his class in P.E., bottom in Math. He has a lot of friends and almost every girl at school has a crush on him. He gets good grades mostly and everyone loves him. Just like his father."

Stephen nodded uncomfortably. He gently rubbed her arm. "And how have you been holding up?"

She smiled up at him, but there was sadness behind it. "How do you think? I'm a 25 year-old single mother who feels like she's 50, working a night shift at a fast food chain and going nowhere. I'm doing just dandy. How about you?"

Stephen pulled her back in for another hug. "Never mind about me. What do you need? Let me help you."

Catherine pushed him away. "You've helped enough. I know you didn't make much in the service, so those checks meant a lot. I don't want to leech off of you anymore. You're starting your own family. Don't tie yourself down with me."

"I can't just leave you hanging. I do care about you, you know."

"But you don't love me, do you?"

Stephen was silent for a full minute. They simply embraced, neither saying a word. "Why don't you at least let me get you that dress?" asked Stephen after several quiet moments.

Catherine shook her head. "I was just about to put it back. It doesn't suit me. I'm hardly the schoolgirl I used to be. I've got wrinkles everywhere and I just don't look young enough for it."

"Things have been hard on you," Stephen agreed. "But I think it looks good on you, and every woman needs at least one nice outfit to wear. Come on. Do something nice for yourself for once."

Catherine smiled. Something in his tone told her arguing was pointless. "You know," she said, "you should take your own advice once in a while. Keep on like this and you'll never have anything."

Stephen laughed, his voice filling her entire body with a comforting warmth. "That's ridiculous. I already have everything I've ever needed or wanted, and money is in neither category. Now let's go to the register before they kick us out."

Lucie looked up from her book as the front door opened and Stephen walked in. She rose from the recliner, wrapping her pajama-clad body in her blanket, and moved beside him. He looked at her, poker faced.

"You're late," said Lucie. "Where have you been? You missed dinner."

"Sorry," he said. "I grabbed fast food on my way back."

Lucie crossed her arms. "You didn't call."

Stephen flinched. "I know. I'm sorry, but I figured you'd rather hear from me in person."

"Why?"

He scratched his head, searching for the right words. "I saw Catherine today." He cringed as he sensed Lucie tense up.

"What do you mean, you saw her? Did you _just_ see her, or did you stop and talk to her?"

"We talked," said Stephen. "Mikey bumped into me, and we went and had a talk."

"OK. What did you talk about?" Her tone was flat, revealing nothing. Stephen shifted nervously, his mind scrambling for words.

"Nothing special. I just asked her how she was doing and if she or Mikey needed anything."

"Right," said Lucie sarcastically. "That's _so_ terrible that you couldn't call to tell me about it."

Stephen scowled. "Hey, now, don't be that way. I know how much you don't like me being around her. I just didn't want you worrying about it while you waited for me to get back."

"Too late," replied Lucie. "I was more worried when I heard nothing at all from you. It's not like you to leave me in the dark."

"I know," Stephen responded, hanging his head slightly. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should've called."

Lucie sighed. "So did she need anything?"

"Not really. She said she wants me to stop helping her. Says I'm wasting my money."

"For once, we agree on something," said Lucie. "You've been sending them money for a long time now. You have no obligation to pay for that woman or for Mikey."

"Yes I do," Stephen answered. "Mikey is _my_ son. It's my responsibility to see he's taken care of."

"Then adopt him," Lucie shot back, her face growing red.

"You know as well as I do Catherine would never give him up, and I'm not about to take him from her. He's all she has. I won't do that to her."

"Why do you care so much?" Lucie demanded. "It was a mistake! You two had a fling in high school. So what? It's over now. Mistakes like that happen all the time. Why do you insist on staying in the past?"

Stephen glared at her. "Don't you ever call Mike a mistake again! Or Catherine! They're people, too. People whose lives I ruined by not taking responsibility sooner. The least I can do is help them. I thought you, of all people, would understand that."

"I understand wanting to help," Lucie answered flatly. "But I also understand having limited resources. You don't make enough to support _two_ families at once. Before long we're going to have children of our own, and you'll have to choose whether to support my kids or hers, because you can't do both. You're right; part of being a man is taking responsibility for your mistakes, but not at the expense of your wife and kids."

"So what, then?" demanded Stephen. "Do I just leave Catherine to rot? After everything I've done to her, you expect me to just abandon them? I can't do that!" His face burned red. His hands shook and angry tears started to well up in his eyes. He clenched his fists. "I'm sick of being told to leave my people behind!"

Lucie recoiled. She had hit a nerve and she knew it. She gently laid her hand on Stephen's shoulder, but he swatted it away and pushed past her, heading for the couch in the living room. "Steve-" she began. Stephen held up his hand with a stopping gesture. He was done talking, his mind vacant from the comfort of the house and back in the cockpit of his mobile suit, reliving memories Lucie could never begin to understand. He gaze fell to her feet, clouded by tears of regret. Her voice cracked. "Steve, I... I'm sorry," she choked out. Stephen didn't answer. Instead, he laid himself on the couch, his back to her as he tried to escape from his own thoughts. He wrapped his arms around himself in frustration. There would be no sleep for him tonight. The fear of nightmares was sure to keep him awake.

"I tell you what, Kate sure knows her stuff," said Arthurs, turning himself upside down to get a better angle at the Zaku's cockpit. "She was talking about groups I've never even heard of. I've never felt so ignorant in my life. Lucky for me, she got excited whenever she talked about one I didn't know, saying she'd have to have me listen to them, get this, _at her place_! Man, I think I might've just hit the jackpot!"

Stephen grunted and shifted in the mobile lifter's seat. He grabbed the control sticks and moved the manipulators into position, grabbing hold of a chunk of armor and forcefully ripping it off the chassis. Arthurs stared at him.

"You know, you've been awfully quiet today. You doin' all right?" he asked.

Stephen pushed the scrap toward the salvage area. "I'm fine. Just tired. Didn't get much sleep."

"Funny," said Arthurs. "That never slowed you down while we were in the service. You goin' soft on me?"

Stephen sighed. "Maybe. Civilian life isn't all it's cracked up to be sometimes."

"What do you mean? Wait, I get it. You and Lucie had a fight didn't you?" Stephen didn't answer. Instead he dug the manipulators into the circuitry and ripped out a clump of wires. Arthurs grinned. "There it is! I'm right, aren't I? Hey, man, relax. Don't look at me like that, I just want to help. Listen, the thing about women is that they think they're always right. It doesn't matter how much you reason with them or prove your own point. If they've got an idea in their heads, then there's no convincing them otherwise. So if you fight against one, you lose. Every time. Doesn't matter who was right at the end of the day; you're still the one who's wrong."

Stephen tossed the wires at the distant Earth. "So where are you going with this?"

"My point is that no matter what you fought about or who said what, you're the one who needs to apologize. So when you go home tonight, stop by a cafe, get her some coffee and chocolate, then walk in, hand them to her and say, 'I'm sorry, baby. I was wrong. Will you forgive me?' And if she cares about you at all, then she'll forgive you. Hell, she might even say _she_ was wrong if you're lucky."

Stephen thought for a moment. "I don't think so. This wasn't just some little squabble. We were arguing about Catherine."

Arthurs stopped cutting circuits for a brief second before continuing again. "Ah... Well, that does make things a little different. But listen, if I'm reading things right, the reason she gets so upset about Catherine is because you're so dense about her. Hey, don't get all pissy on me, just hear me out. How do you think Catherine feels about you?"

Stephen paused, thinking hard. "I don't know. I think she's forgiven me, but I doubt she's all that fond of me."

Arthurs reached down from his perch and smacked Stephen's helmet. "You see? That's what I'm talking about! Listen, man. Catherine loves you. She always did. Why do you think she let you sleep with her in the first place? You know as well as I do that she's not the fooling around type. Not only that, but she also chose to keep your kid and raise him, probably hoping you'd marry her and help her start a family. But that didn't work and you started in with Lucie. So now she's stuck. No other guy wants a girl with that kind of baggage and she knows it. So she's torn between trying to take you for herself and living happily, or leaving you be and letting you be happy. Lucie knows all this and she's afraid of losing you. You're her whole world, you know. So when she hears you talking about Catherine she gets scared."

"Goddammit," Stephen muttered. "I can't stand triangles. I always sucked at trigonometry."

Arthurs chuckled. "Aw c'mon. Cheer up! Most guys would kill to have two pretty girls fighting over him. Granted, not under _these_ circumstances, but still... Anyway, here's my advice. Do the whole coffee and chocolate thing, but go a step further. Let her know what she means to you. Cook for her. Treat her like a princess. Have a wild night and do whatever she wants you to do to her in bed. Just, you know, make her feel special. She needs to know that Catherine isn't a threat and that you love her more than anything else. Get it?"

"Sure," said Stephen, "but what about Catherine?"

"What about her? Which girl do you love? Lucie, right? So leave Catherine alone."

"But-"

"No buts! Catherine wouldn't want you to give up Lucie for her. She might act she does, but she knows she'd regret it later. She doesn't expect, or even really want, you to worry about her. The best thing you can do for her is to just step back and live your life. She'll be fine. Trust me."

Stephen sighed. "Look at me. I'm taking advice from the guy who couldn't get a single date through all of high school. I must really be desperate."

Arthurs smacked his helmet again. "Sure, ha-ha, very funny. I don't see _you_ picking up hot chicks with hipster music talk. Now shut up and help me get this targeting monitor removed. If we're careful we might be able to get the whole thing intact."

Stephen smiled for the first time that day. "Right. Just show me where to grab."

Arthurs grinned. "That's what she said!"

The two friends laughed together, then turned back to their work.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Lucie paced the floor of the house, moving from the living room to the kitchen, then back again. Stephen was late. Why was he late? It was such a rare thing for him to deviate from his schedule. He would never have let anything distract him from his trip home unless… A pang of fear froze her heart. He would only stop on the way back if there had been some sort of problem. She walked to the window, peering out for what must have been the eightieth time. The scheduled rain was coming down hard, so hard she could barely see the other side of the street. It didn't matter; there was nothing to see. She stepped away from the window and went back to pacing.

In her mind she kicked herself over and over. Why had she gone there? Why did she have to push him? She had hit some sort of nerve. Was it too much? Had he left her? Had he decided to stay with Catherine? It made sense. Catherine seemed to understand him so well, and she lacked the nerve to ever push Steve too far. The more Lucie thought about it, the worse she felt. At the end of the day, Catherine was more of a wife to Steve than Lucie would be. The two already had a son. Steve seemed set on taking care of them. Lucie's eyes watered. Had she lost him? Had she pushed him away completely? She must have. It was the only thing that made any sense. Why else wouldn't he be there? What could possibly…?

She nearly broke into sobbing when suddenly she heard the porch door open. In half a second she crossed the kitchen and threw open the front door. There was Stephen, drenched with the rain. In his hand was a soggy shopping bag, half filled with water. He stared at her with wide, frightened eyes, looking like a freshly landed fish. His mouth moved but no words came out. His free hand waved around and he grunted, as though he was trying to speak but couldn't form a sentence. Suddenly he said "Ah!" and thrust his hand into the bag with a crinkling splash. He fished around for a few seconds before producing a waterlogged bouquet of half-drowned flowers, a bar of chocolate fastened to it with a dripping ribbon. Stephen held it out, and Lucie took it from him. She looked down at the pathetic gift, then back up at Stephen. He finally managed to sputter out a few words.

"Sorry I'm late, Babe. I… I got you flowers." He flinched at himself and looked down at his feet, his hand still clutching the bag of rainwater. Lucie smiled. He looked absolutely ridiculous, and she could see that he knew it. She set the flowers on the table behind her and turned back to face him. He spoke again. "Lucie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to make you upset, I just… I…" his voice cracked. "I just want to do the right thing. That's all. But I don't want to hurt you." He looked up at her, his face a picture of remorse and anxiety. He was afraid. Afraid that he was going to lose her. "Forgive me?"

Lucie smiled and leapt at him, her arms pulling him in close. "No, Steve. I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I overreacted. I went too far and I hurt you. That's the last thing I want. I was just afraid I was going to lose you. It scared me and I blew up on you. That was wrong. Please don't hate me." Stephen embraced her, the water on his clothes soaking into hers. He chuckled, the tension in his muscles releasing.

"Hate you?" he said. "Lucie, I love you. I want to start my own family with you. No one else. Love isn't something that disappears. It's not a feeling. It's a choice. I chose you. I'm keeping you. And besides, I got you flowers." The last sentence was tinted with a humorous tone and Lucie started laughing.

"Yes you did," she said sarcastically. "Very nice ones."

"Hey, they were perfect when I bought them. I forgot about the rain schedule, though."

"That's ok," said Lucie. "I'm glad you thought of me. It's not like you to stop at the store on your way back. I was worried."

Steve sighed as his nervousness faded away. "Sorry."

Lucie squeezed him tighter. "It's all right. I'm just happy you're home. I've missed you all day." She rested her head on his chest, sighing happily despite the cold wetness on her cheek. She felt so happy in his arms. She felt safe, like she was meant to be there. She rubbed her face against him affectionately and felt him kiss the top of her head. She pulled back and looked him up and down. "Look at you," she said. "You're soaked through! Come on. Let's get you dried off and comfy."

Jed Davis stood with his hands on his hips. The bits of Zaku were scattered all across the workshop floor, save for a small bunch that had been welded together into what vaguely resembled a mobile suit head. It was in rough shape. The armor was worn and damaged, and most of the circuits were still exposed. No matter. It would never have to face anything with enough firepower to damage it any more than it already was. Davis placed his hand on the super-hardened steel alloy and ran his fingers across its rough surface. The metal was cold, almost as cold as the space it had been salvaged from. Davis looked down to its newly repaired camera. The single "eye" of the Zaku would normally have glowed bright pink or purple, but for now it was dark. Davis remembered the opening days of the war, when he had piloted a mobile suit not unlike this one. In those days Zeon had ruled space. The Federation had nothing that could even hope to touch them. Even now their technology was laughably inferior. With one exception.

The White Devil. Gundam, they called it. That accursed mobile suit had smashed Zeon's finest military inventions into scrap. Rumor had it that its pilot was an inhuman prodigy blessed with infinite good luck. Davis had seen him in action. He had watched as the Gundam destroyed Musai cruisers, Dom and Zaku mobile suits, and even the incredibly powerful Big Zam. They hadn't stood a chance. The thing moved with a life of its own. It was incredibly fast, it had massive firepower, and it simply refused to die no matter how many hits it took. Not even Aznable's psychic mobile armor could stop it. Nothing could. Davis pounded his fist against the Zaku head. All those men who lost their lives to the White Devil would rest in peace soon enough. He would see to that. Someone coughed behind him, startling him.

"Lost in the old days, boss?" asked Nimoy, moving beside him.

Davis nodded, his eyes locked on the helmet. "Something like that."

Nimoy patted his shoulder. "I just wish we could get you a half decent one to use."

Davis shrugged. "I don't need anything fancy. It's not like we have to fight our way through anything substantial. With that paint, nothing will be able to touch us. Which reminds me, have you guys got the lining up yet? Wouldn't want them to come investigating when their electronics start malfunctioning."

Nimoy grinned. "Just finished putting up the last sheet this morning. Put the bolts in myself. We're totally undetectable in here, as long as we keep the doors closed. Since we need to keep the door for bringing in more parts, we won't be able to start coating until the Zaku's finished. Once we've got it, we'll have to close up the shop while we work. If we keep our heads down, no one should be able to catch on until it's too late for them to stop us."

Davis took his hand off the Zaku, letting it drop to his side. "Good. I'll leave it to you guys. Just don't screw it up, all right?"

Nimoy's grin widened. "Just relax, boss. We're Zeon's best, remember? We don't make mistakes."

Davis looked Nimoy in his face. His eyes were fiery, filled with the eagerness of youth. It had been a long time since his own eyes had possessed that flame. "Nimoy, why did you join the Zeon Army?"

Nimoy's grin faded before returning, somewhat weaker than before. "Oh, you know. Bills needed to be paid, I was living alone, and I was bored I guess. Nothing more than that. At least, it started out that way."

"What changed?"

Nimoy rubbed the back of his head and sighed. "Oh, I don't know, boss. When you've watched the same white mobile suit kill every friend you've ever had, you start to hate it. Not just the machine." His grin vanished completely. "Not just the pilot, either. Hell, not even his army. It's everything he stands for. I always fought for the guys next to me, same as anybody else. But once they're all gone, what's left? What was I supposed to fight for? I had trouble finding an answer for a while. Then I watched as the feddies used their solar weapon. Dead men everywhere, Federation and Zeon alike. That's when I realized what I was there for. Those pigs would at nothing until they'd destroyed all hope of freedom, not even at killing their own men. I never cared much about the whole revolution thing myself, but lots of other people did. I knew that everyone back home I ever cared about would end up living a miserable life under the Feds. So I decided I wouldn't rest until I had the White Devil's head in my Dom's manipulator. But Char Aznable got to it first, go figure. No one knows what happened to its pilot. Then we lost. Now everyone back home is just as unhappy as I thought they'd be. Those damned Feds don't care what happens to the people as long as they get their resources and money. But maybe now they'll listen. Once they see that we'll never give up, never stop fighting, then maybe they'll start to care."

Davis nodded. He knew the feeling. The Feds were sucking what was left of Zeon dry. The colonies were tanking in a big way. With so many men dead, families were in shambles. Mothers and children were forced to go to work in rough, physically exhausting jobs just to survive. The currency was all but worthless and the people were always hungry. Davis clenched his fists. The thought of children crying for their fathers who would never come home turned his stomach. He grasped Nimoy's shoulder.

"Don't worry. I'll see to it that we get their attention. You just make sure they don't gun me down as soon as I peek outside."

Nimoy's grin returned once more, back at full strength this time. "Don't sweat it. That gift from R&D really packs a wallop. You'll be untouchable."

Davis raised an eyebrow. "You tested it?"

Nimoy nodded. "Only on a small scale, but it's absolutely incredible. I've never seen anything quite like it."

Davis smiled. "Good. I prefer to go into battle with equipment that works in practice, not just in theory."

Nimoy rapped his knuckles on the Zaku head. "Even an old girl like this will feel like a mobile armor once we're through with it."

The two men chuckled together. Davis walked toward the door, gesturing to Nimoy to follow him. The veterans exited the warehouse side by side, smiling happily to themselves.

Stephen stepped into the grocery store, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him. He stood rooted to the spot, overwhelmed. It had been a long time since he had seen so much food in one place. He couldn't remember the last time he had gone sorcery shopping. It felt like centuries. So many days he had gone hungry, his unit's rations completely exhausted. His mind replayed countless nights wrapped in the cold embrace of space. Food was practically a luxury to grunt pilots like him and his men. He remembered his days as a test pilot, putting the Federation's newest and best technologies through their paces. After that promotion he had all the food he needed. Maybe to make up for his time in the field, but more likely to keep his body at peak performance. Meanwhile the others still had to do without. They weren't as important to the military machine.

"Excuse me," said a voice. Stephen jumped. The voice had come from a pretty young clerk who had snuck up beside him while he was lost in thought. She was smiling with amusement, and looked like she was trying not to laugh. "Can I help you find anything, sir? You look a little lost."

Stephen's voice faltered. He knew why he was there, but his overthinking had dragged the memory far out of reach. "Uh, sorry," he managed. "I just… got lost in my own head, I guess."

The girl giggled for a second. "That's all right. I do that all the time. So what are you looking for today?"

Stephen's mind raced. What was he there for? Lucie had wanted something. _Really_ wanted something. What was it? Why couldn't he remember? He had walked the entire way reciting it to himself over and over again in his mind so that he _wouldn't_ forget. Now here he was, his brain completely refusing to cooperate. He looked nervously at the clerk. She was still smiling, patiently waiting with her hands clasped behind her back. Her face was cute. Blue eyes, red hair, cheeks filled with dark brown freckles. The freckles were what caught his attention. They were dark, almost like chocolate. Like chocolate… malted milk "Balls!" he exclaimed suddenly.

The girl started, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

Stephen slapped his forehead. Why was he like this? "Sorry," he spouted. "Milk balls. Malted milk balls. That's what I'm here for."

The clerk lost control. She laughed loudly, bent over double. Stephen blushed bright red and stared at the floor, wishing he wasn't such an idiot. The girl struggled desperately to calm herself, sputtering out "I'm sorry… I shouldn't laugh…. You just had me worried for a second there." She laughed for a few seconds before cutting herself off and holding her breath. After several moments she exhaled loudly before blushing and playing with her hair, an embarrassed expression covering her face. "Sorry about that. They're right this way."

She led Stephen away from the entryway and into the body of the store. They walked past several aisles filled with everything from light snacks to ready-made meals for two. Stephen found himself staring into each one as they walked past. The clerk looked back at him, clearly concerned. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Stephen looked at her. He felt the tips of his ears start to burn. He was making a total fool out of himself. "I'm fine," he said, breaking eye contact. "It's just been so long since I've been in a place like this. We didn't get much food in the service."

The clerk's eyes went wide. "Oh, you're a veteran?" she asked. Stephen nodded. She smiled and winked. "Ah, so I've got a hero in front of me."

Stephen rubbed the back of his head, his face turning red. "Well… I don't know about that…" he mumbled. "I just piloted my machine like everyone else in my squadron. I'm not Amuro Ray or anything."

The girl nudged him with her elbow. "Not just a soldier. A pilot! Now that _is_ heroic!"

Stephen couldn't find any words. He mumbled incoherently for a few seconds before finally regaining enough control over himself to ask "Where are those malt balls?"

"Right down this aisle," replied the clerk. "Just pick up your box and head to the front counter." Her tone went deep and breathy. "I'll check you out," she said with another wink. She turned and walked toward the front of the store, swinging her hips in a way that Stephen found slightly excessive. He let out a deep breath that he hadn't noticed he'd been holding and picked up the nearest box of chocolate malt balls and walking quickly to the register, hoping to leave as quickly as possible. He was getting more and more uncomfortable every second.

The clerk was waiting for him with a cheeky grin on her face. She took the candy box, scanned it, then placed it in the bag along with a slip of paper. Stephen paid for the malt balls and rushed toward the door. "Come back soon!" the clerk called after him. Stephen waved over his shoulder, not looking back. Once outside he sighed with relief. He had been decently popular in high school, so he had been used to girls flirting with him. But somewhere in the chaos of battle he had forgotten what it felt like. Before the war would have simply casually slipped Lucie into the conversation somewhere. But he had floundered like a beached whale. It felt almost brand new to him, as though he had never spoken to a woman before.

Stephen sighed again and rubbed his forehead. What was wrong with him? Why didn't he feel like himself anymore? It was almost like he had become someone else. Someone with no self-confidence, charisma, or self-control. The worst part was that deep down a piece of him had been enjoying itself. He liked the attention. She was attractive and she seemed to want him. Stephen knew that a part of him liked feeling wanted. Normally that small portion had been easy to push aside, but now it was nearly impossible. He shook his head. He was just tired, that was all. A few hours with his wonderful fiancé and a little sleep would set him straight. He started to smile to himself as he walked. He didn't need that girl's attention. He was just paranoid and overthinking. No one could ever hold a candle to Lucie. Stephen nodded to himself. She'd be in a good mood once she had her candy. It always put her in a good mood. He reached into the bag to check his receipt. He pulled out a piece of paper that was definitely not a receipt. It was a folded up sheet of unprinted paper with writing in red ink.

"Cassy 864-7783. Call me if you ever get lonely, flyboy. XOXO."

Michael pressed himself up against the wall, feeling the cool cobblestones press into his back. He struggled to slow his breathing, clutching his rifle close to his chest. The sentry hadn't spotted him. If he sat quietly enough for a few more moments, then he would have him on the ropes. Michael sat silently, taking his breaths in small doses. Slowly he peeked over the top. The sentry's back was turned. This was his chance. He rested his rifle on the wall and peered down his scope. The lookout was still facing the opposite direction, picking his nose. Michael aligned his crosshairs on the back of his head.

"Bang!" he shouted.

The sentry jumped, whirling around. Michael grinned at him and waved, then pulled the trigger. His rifle coughed as the steel BB flew through the air, hitting the unlucky target in the chest. He yelped and dropped his pistol.

"Ouch! That's not fair, Mikey!" he hollered. Michael laughed.

"Gotcha, Jesse! That's five in a row!" he said. Jesse pouted.

"You always beat me," he whined. "This isn't fun anymore! I'm going home."

"Aw, c'mon," said Michael. "Don't get all mad. We can do something else."

Jesse sat on the ground, rubbing his chest. "Yeah, like what?"

Michael thought for a few minutes. "Well, we could go shoot some soda cans down by the river. That's always fun."

Jesse scratched his head. "I don't know, Mikey. Dad always gets mad at me when I go there. Says it's dangerous."

"Yeah, right," scoffed Michael. "Grownups think everything is dangerous. There's nothing down there to worry about. Just don't fall in and you'll be fine."

Jesse swayed uneasily from side to side. "But what if Dad finds out?"

"Who's gonna tell him? You? Just say we were hanging out at Steve's place. He won't care then."

Jesse smiled. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Sorry. My dad's just a lame worrywart."

Michael shrugged. "At least you know who your dad is. I wish I had one. Come on. Let's go."

The two boys picked up their BB guns and started walking in the direction of the colony's artificial river. For several minutes neither of them said anything. An awkward silence hung over the pair of friends. Jesse kicked a loose pebble, watching it skid down the sidewalk. "Hey, Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

Jesse paused, trying to come up with the right words to say. "You know Steve better than I do, huh?"

Michael shrugged. "Yeah I guess so."

"Yeah…" Jesse's voice trailed off. "Is he… OK?"

Michael stopped walking and stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno…" Jesse looked down at his feet, shuffling nervously. "It's just… Dad…"

"What about him?"

"Well…" Jesse paused again, unsure of himself. "It's just… Ever since Dad came home from the army he's been… different. I mean, he's still Dad, but… it's almost like something's not right. He gets mad a lot. Sometimes he throws things and breaks stuff, then… he just stops and starts crying. I mean, I'd never seen Dad cry before. Mom says it's because of all the things that happened while he was fighting. I just thought… I dunno… does Steve do that too? Is that just a normal thing soldiers do when they come home?"

Michael thought for a long moment. "I haven't really seen Steve much since he got back, so I really don't know."

"Oh," said Jesse, still shuffling his feet. "I just thought… you know… because your mom always had him around… maybe you knew… Ah, forget I asked."

Michael put his hand on Jesse's shoulder. "Hey, you OK?"

Jesse brushed his hand away. "I'm fine. I just worry about Dad sometimes, you know? Mom says he's sick or something. I just wanted to know if it was serious or not."

Michael nodded. "What did your dad do in the army?"

"Infantry. Some sort of special stuff he doesn't like to talk about. But Mom says something happened and a lot of his friends died all at once. That's how he got sick. In the head, I mean. That's why he always gets upset and yells."

Michael frowned. "D'you get scared?"

"No!" said Jesse, a little too quickly to sound earnest. "I just… want him to be OK."

"Yeah, I gotcha," said Michael. "I don't know what Steve is like, but I wouldn't worry too much about your dad. I think your Mom will help him get better."

Jesse clenched his fist and started walking again. "No she won't."

Michael rushed to catch up. "What do you mean, she won't?"

"She said she's leaving him, and she's taking me with her." Jesse's voice cracked. He walked a little faster. Michael caught up to him and patted his shoulder.

"Hey, I'm sorry. Come on, we're almost to the river. Let's just have fun, OK? Don't start crying on me."

"I'm not crying!" Jesse snapped, angrily. "Come on, let's get some targets set up. I wanna shoot something."

The boys set up a line of targets made from the garbage they found along the river bank. They found a nice spot under a nearby road bridge where the concrete pillars made for a perfect place to set up cans. They stood the cans up in a row on the solid surface and stepped back, each taking turns firing at the targets. The constant sound of metallic pinging helped to clear the air of tension. Michael made sure to say something positive whenever Jesse got a hit. "Nice one!" "Good hit!" "Nailed it!"

After about an hour, the two boys finally ran out of ammunition and sat on the concrete slab beneath the bridge, leaning against the steel wall set into the bank. Michael looked up at the wall. There was nothing interesting about it, save for an unmarked door in the center. He stood up and walked over to get a better look. There was no handle of any kind, only a card reader set to the left of it. Michael stared at the reader. It looked simple enough, except…

"Hey, Jesse! Come take a look at this."

Jesse stood and walked to his friend's side. "What's up?"

Michael pointed. "Look on the side of this card reader."

Jesse looked. Sure enough, there in the corner was something very different. It was an insignia; a four-pointed star with a thin crescent cupping the bottom point. It was the sign of the Earth Federation military. "What's that doing there?" asked Jesse. "I thought all the Federation soldiers got kicked out."

"Yeah," said Michael. "Something about Zeon attacking Side 6. Maybe this is where they were camped out."

"Under a bridge?" said Jesse. "Their base was off by the spaceport. I used to walk past it all the time. It's just an empty building now. Think they decided to hide out here instead?"

"I don't think so," said Michael. "There's dust all over this reader. I don't think it's been used for a while. Maybe Steve would know something about it."

"I dunno, maybe. Anyway, it's getting late. My parents get worried if I'm out after the streetlights come on. Let's go home."

"Sure." Michael followed Jesse up the bank, taking one last look over his shoulder as he climbed.


End file.
